A risk worth Taking
by Athena Linborn
Summary: After the 1998 war, Hermione is forced to travel to the time of the founders to get their magical essences to rebuild a crumbling Hogwarts. However complexities pursue her every step. But she's a woman on a mission, and nothing or no one will deter her!
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: Only original characters belong to me, everything else is the property of J K Rowling.

A/N: this story ignores the DH epilogue. I hope it has some semblance of believability - please enjoy. Thanks go to my beta, Demoness Mark, for sorting my grammar, and quizzing me on plotlines and characters. The whole of this story, plus a sequel are written so updates should be fairly regular. Your views are welcome.

 **A Risk Worth Taking**

 **Prologue**

It was a cloudless afternoon in August 1998. The sun blazed down from an azure sky. The mountains around the Scottish highlands looked lush and green, their foliage abundant. The greenery was visible around the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the top of the forbidden forest, but that was where the serenity ended.

The rubble that had comprised the main part of Hogwarts castle lay in heaps among weeds and the foundation stones. Some parts of the building were still standing, precarious without any support, while others looked almost whole, an illusion that was shattered the nearer one got to the structure.

The two wizards who had been crouching over a heap of foundation stones that had once comprised the north tower stood up, breathing hard, both clutching wands in sweaty hands. It was no good, the tower simply wouldn't stand no matter what they did to it. They'd been at Hogwarts for two days, trying as many had done before them, to put right the foundation wards holding up the structure of the school. However their expertise, gained from many years in the building industry within the wizarding world, just weren't up to the task. The wards simply refused to cooperate.

"I just don't understand it, "Mustafa Ali, the older of the two, muttered despairingly in Arabic, "I've never had a problem re-erecting wards, but this lot are shot to pieces." He wiped a grimy hand across his forehead. His mouth turned down worriedly.

"You're not alone," his companion, Dawud Iqsa groused, kicking irritably at a bit of brick, "Our names will be dust with the Brits and the Egyptians. I just don't get it!"

Mustafa paced the rubble strewn site, weather-beaten face crinkled in thought as he swigged from a water bottle. "The rumours about the place must be true, it's the only explanation."

"What, that it's sentient?" Dawud's brows beetled with disbelief. "Come now, only the Egyptian pyramids are sentient, and we wouldn't be stupid enough to subject them to a battering like this place has taken."

"It must be, it's the only explanation. After all, Hogwarts has stood for 1000 years, it's not impossible, "Mustafa reasoned calmly. "The UK has just as long a wizarding history as us you know."

Dawud narrowed his eyes with displeasure though was unable to refute this argument. "Hmph, they certainly don't show it in the way they treat their buildings." He waved an angry hand at the ruins around them. "Look at this place, once so fine, embodying so much magical knowledge and power, one of the best schools in the wizarding world, now a wreck! Sentient or not, it's falling down now and there's nothing anyone can do about it."

Mustafa nodded gloomily in agreement, eyes sweeping the deserted landscape round them. "Let's do the test, come on. Only a few drops though, the last thing this place needs is more damage."

"I'm not sure about this, what if it collapses?" Dawud ventured looking with misgiving at the ruins. "This is only a last resort… fine mess it'll be if it sustains more damage due to the test."

"We've no choice, we've tried everything else," Mustafa responded coolly. "At least we can confirm it's sentient, then it's up to them what they do after that."

Dawud nodded though still looked uncomfortable as he eyed the tower before them with misgiving. This test though invaluable, had consequences he didn't think Hogwarts, in its present sorry state, could take.

Mustafa glanced round again, then quickly put up two privacy wards, it wouldn't do for anyone to see what they were about to do, it was after all a test that they alone had devised and could do. It was the reason they were so highly sought after throughout the wizarding world.

Both wizards took deep breaths to ground themselves. This test was simple, but the risks associated with it going wrong were tremendous. Once both were centred and calm, they pricked their fingers and dripped blood on to the earth beneath the bricks

They began chanting in unison in ancient Arabic as a thick blue smoke issued from their wands and quickly covered the area around them in deep mist. There was a crack as the blood began sinking into the ground, and as they watched with resigned expressions, the earth beneath began to crumble, leaving a pit so that the bricks toppled into it in a heap. At the same moment the smoke shimmered and coalesced to form four separate strands, red, green, blue and yellow. Then it began dispersing leaving a pile of rubble behind.

They looked at the mess around them, both relieved to see very little damage had been done to the earth. This test had brought down buildings in the past, hence their reluctance to use it today.

"The original magic's almost gone," Dawud said watching the last of the smoke disappear as he took down the privacy wards. "No wonder patching it isn't helping."

Mustafa nodded, eyes tracing the final wisps of the smoke. Conjuring some parchment, he pulled a muggle pen from his pocket and drew a rough graph. "There are four strains of magic here, all nicely intertwined, interesting. It's as good a weave as in our pyramid foundations, if not better."

"There were four founders I believe," Dawud put in thoughtfully watching the graph take shape. "We'll have to tell the Brits-"

The crack of someone apparating had both men turning to see who had interrupted their conversation so abruptly. Neither was cheered to see the British Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking around hopefully. They would have to confess that even they, the best builders the magical world possessed, couldn't help him rebuild Hogwarts.

"So, any luck?" He approached the base of the tower. His face fell when he saw the rubble confronting him.

Mustafa pulled himself upright and shook his grizzled head. "I'm sorry, Minister, we've tried everything we know of and a few things that we shouldn't know, but nothing. The place is sentient; it needs a bit of its creator if it's ever to be resurrected. We've done the test to prove it." He showed Kingsley the grimy parchment he'd used to draw the shapes. "See, this graph shows that the amount of magic the creators left here is almost gone."

Kingsley laughed hollowly, glancing at the graph, then pocketing it. "That's difficult considering the creators lived a thousand years ago. Ah well, thanks for trying."

Dawud stared at Kingsley from under his wide brimmed hat, lip curling derisively. "You Westerners, you give up so easily."

"Hush, Dawud," Mustafa chided without heat, "It's up to them what they do. We're merely here to do our jobs."

Kingsley took a step towards the still sneering Dawud. "And how, pray tell do you suggest we rectify the situation?" His voice was polite though held a definite edge.

Dawud gave him an imperious look from slanting eyes. "I'd have thought it was obvious! Get the essence you need; a five year old could have told you that, minister." He leaned against an upright pillar and surveyed the wreckage disdainfully.

Kingsley Shacklebolt known for his calm disposition, even temper and level-headedness, wanted to throttle this man with his pretentious attitude and exorbitant price. Despair was making him light-headed but it wouldn't do to give in and thump the blaggard, even if he did deserve it. "Oh? And how would said five year old go about such a feat?" He drawled instead, looking coldly at the man.

Dawud laughed harshly. "Come now, Minister, you're an intelligent man; put the pieces together. How would one get magical essence from the past? Why, by travelling back to get it of course!" He widened his eyes comically at Kingsley.

Mustafa frowned in warning. "Dawud, leave them be. It's up to them what they do with their school, not us. Come, there's nothing more we can do here. Let's activate our portkey back to Cairo. If I'm lucky, I may get home in time for dinner."

Kingsley, however, wasn't listening, his eyes fastened on Dawud, an almost manic glint in them. "So the Egyptians have done this then? Travelled back to get essence from the past?"

It was Mustafa who answered, his expression a mixture of pride and defensiveness. "Only twice and even then as a last resort; it's too risky to attempt it more often due to timeline issues."

Dawud pulled a face. "We hardly had a choice, it was either travel back, or let the tomb of King Tut – Tutankhamun and the Step Pyramid of Djoser go to ruin." He shuddered in horror at the thought.

Mustafa nodded sagely. "That's inconceivable, a disgrace to even contemplate!"

Kingsley stood watching them, a calm expression on his face, while his heart raced. So the Department of Mysteries had been right, the Egyptians had risked going back for the sake of some of their eldest relics. He was sure that the Mexicans had done the same with the Pyramid of the Magician twenty years ago, which seemingly had been resurrected overnight, though it had been on the verge of collapse. The Mexicans had denied it vigorously when he'd tentatively approached the matter a few weeks ago.

How glad he was that he'd asked these Egyptian experts to look at the place. They were the only ones who knew how to do the test for Sentient magic, and finally they'd confirmed what everyone had suspected but never known for certain.

It hardened his own resolve. Hogwarts was a lot more precious than a load of pyramids and tombs, he had to save it at all costs. He'd exhausted every avenue known to man; it was time to take definitive action and sort this problem for once and all. If the Mexicans and Egyptians could do it without harm coming to them, then so could the Brits! Dawud's voice pulled him from his thoughts.

"I'll probably regret this later but... here," he thrust a piece of parchment on which he'd scribbled a name and address into Kingsley's hands, "Fahtima will be able to tell you more about how best to go about it. She did the thinking behind our latest trip back." He glanced round at the ruins, jaw working. "I hate to admit it, but Hogwarts is one of the best wizarding schools in the world, my Aunt came here in the 30's to apprentice under Herbert Beery. She's now one of our best Herbologists."

Kingsley accepted the parchment. "I can't thank you enough for all your help. Of course, as you know, this cannot be spoken of to outsiders ever."

Both men nodded and began gathering together their tools. Soon their portkey had been activated and Kingsley watched as they were whisked away back to Egypt.

Kingsley looked down at the grimy parchment he held and his heart swelled with hope. Fahtima Aqsa Julal, one of the Egyptians who worked with time, would be able to advise him on what to do in planning the mission back, and if he was lucky, lend him a time turner. He'd also speak to the portraits of the Hogwarts founders, currently stored at the Ministry, see if there was anything they could tell him about what had happened or not as the case may be. Then he and the unspeakables who worked in the Time Room would begin planning in earnest. He'd played it safe until now, but it was high time he put his money where his mouth was and arranged for someone to travel back to the time of the founders to get their magical essences. Hogwarts would be restored to its former glory once more, whatever it took.

XoXoXoXo

"Technically, no one's supposed to meddle with time." Minerva McGonagall's voice trembled, worry lines etching her anxious eyes. "However, there are gaping holes in Hogwarts' wards and we can't repair them. Unless we do something quickly, the school will crumble."

It was mid-November 1998, and the small group were seated round a table in one of the private offices in the Department of Mysteries, faces illuminated by torch light so that they looked eerie. Both Kingsley Shacklebolt the Minister for Magic, and Minerva McGonagall, headmistress of Hogwarts wore looks of concern, giving their faces a tired and defeated look, so incongruent to their usually ebullient personalities. Arthur and Molly Weasley wore stoic expressions hard to read, nevertheless, the latter wasn't meeting anyone's eyes, a certain sign of turmoil.

From her seat beside Mrs Weasley, Hermione Granger sat watching them curiously. She had been asked to attend this top secret meeting, in itself a rarity, but so far, the reason for her presence hadn't been explained. They were discussing the problems with the wards protecting Hogwarts, but judging from their serious tones, the problem was far worse than had been publicised.

Since the start of the school term in September, lessons had been held in classrooms in an abandoned muggle school on the South Downs, which had been hastily refurbished. At the same time, the repairs to Hogwarts were being completed, reported to be soon. The wizarding population had accepted this temporary change even though it meant children had to go home of an evening, reassured that Hogwarts would be open again soon. However, the solution Professor McGonagall and Kingsley were proposing was at best mad and at worst, downright dangerous for everyone's existence.

Kingsley sighed deeply. "I don't think we've any other choice. At worst, things will still be the same, but at least the attempt will have been made. The building experts we hired from Egypt and Mexico have said the wards can't be re-erected unless magical essence from the original casters is put into them. This means there will be no way of educating magical children in the UK. That is unacceptable!"

"Why can't you continue to use Middleton school?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

"Because it's not viable. It's costing a ridiculous amount to ferry children to and from their homes each day even if we're using the flu and port keys; we need somewhere they can board, and that is Hogwarts castle which was built for the express purpose of educating magical children," Kingsley said tersely.

Hermione spoke up unable to help herself. "But if someone does go back, the timeline may inadvertently be altered and we may not exist anymore. It doesn't take a lot to set off a chain of events which may change the course of time." She was finding it hard to believe Kingsley and McGonagall, two of the most intelligent people she knew, were even contemplating this mad course of action, for something which in the grand scale of things, in her view seemed trivial.

"Time can't be changed in terms of its fabric, so technically speaking, what we're proposing has already happened, and as we're all here, our existence isn't a problem," Kingsley dismissed. "We can't lose Hogwarts, we just can't!"

"But, Kingsley, it's conjecture, not enough is known about time and how changing one thing will affect something else," Hermione protested, the lectures Dumbledore had delivered to her on this very subject at the start of her third year ringing in her head.

"The main risk is that people inadvertently end up killing their past or future selves, but this won't be a risk for us as the person is going so far back," professor McGonagall stepped in to explain, her voice flat with weariness.

"Yes, but let's say the person does go back, they can't come forward again without harm," Hermione argued, a passage from one of the books she had read on time coming to mind. "They'd age as they came forward, which would be 1000 years. Yikes!"

Kingsley laughed indulgently. "Ah Hermione, I love your thoroughness. Our Egyptian colleagues who have kindly lent us a time Turner for this purpose, have incorporated a vacuum capsule into it. It's a marvellous invention; protects anything inside from time so that when you come out of the capsule, you aren't changed by time. Its how they managed to go back to the time of the Pharaohs to get essences for some of the pyramids which were crumbling."

"And who exactly will be doing this?" She tried again, still unable to believe they were even considering this mad scheme.

Kingsley, Minerva, and Molly and Arthur Weasley who had remained silent until now, all shifted in their seats. "Well now, it has to be someone young, who knows about Time Turners, who understands the complexities of changing timelines and who can blend in," Professor McGonagall listed, suddenly becoming very interested in a thread on her sleeve. "The person also needs to be able to absorb vast amounts of spells and charms information so as to be able to replicate the wards when they get back to this time."

Hermione felt a foreboding weight slide from her chest into her stomach and clenched her fingers together under the table to stop them shaking. There was only one person she knew who had these attributes – suddenly the reason for her invite to the meeting was Crystal clear. "Please no," she implored, looking around at their strained faces.

"Hermione, my dear, you're perfect. You understand how Time Turners work and are the right age," Kingsley said, patting her arm.

Hermione took a deep breath and willed the panic down. She was stronger than this; she had just fought in the worst wizarding war recorded for heaven's sake! "And if the founders find out? They'll probably kill me on sight due to how suspicious they were of unknown people during the 11th century. Anyway, I wasn't the only student to use a time turner at school; quite a few of the Ravenclaw students did so. Plus, I'm muggle born, Salazar Slytherin will just love that!" It was one thing to go back a few hours, but to go back a thousand years to Anglo-Saxon times? Even thinking about it made her mind boggle.

Professor McGonagall shook her head. "It has to be you, Hermione, no one else. The founders won't harm you. They'll be far too curious about you to do that, it is this curiosity that you must use to your advantage. When the time is right, explain the problem and what you need to know. Then, once you have the information on the wards, you can return and they can be reinforced. It's very simple really."

Kingsley sighed again. "The experts from Egypt and Mexico can't make any headway with re-erection of the wards. Hermione, if there was any other way, we would have taken it but we're desperate. The school's falling down; Hogwarts is world renowned. We need help and quickly or it'll crumble..."

"Then just reconstruct the wards, it's not a big deal," she protested shrilly. "The founders left records, even I know that."

"They only left instructions for the wards that needed to be renewed. They didn't leave information on how to reinforce the foundation wards. It's the sentient and blood magic that supports the foundations of the school, which is coming apart. It needs to be reinforced by the same wards and magical essence as before, to help its renewal," Kingsley responded coolly. "We don't have their magical essence to pour into the foundations, even if we did manage to reconstruct the wards."

Her eyes gleamed. "Ah, but, Kingsley, if this person has already gone back, then it stands to reason that they knew about the wards being destructed in our time, why didn't they leave exact instructions on how to re-erect them?"

His smile was pitying. "Because there was no point; they knew the person would have to go back to get their magical essences. That can't be preserved for a thousand years. Once we have this, someone else can do the actual weaving. We need the exact spells and enchantments that were woven into the foundations, plus blood and magical essence hence our problem."

"Then send someone else who was in my year or an adult," she interjected swiftly, "Maybe one of the unspeakables or a ward caster. They'd be better placed than me – for a start, they'd understand more about what to do and stuff."

"No, it can only be you, Hermione, it'll be easier to introduce a new student to the school than an adult, also it'll attract far less attention," professor McGonagall told her. "Besides, none of the others around your age knows about the devastation of the wards and we want it kept that way, so it has to be you." Clearly, this plan had been discussed thoroughly.

Hermione got up and wandered across to a filing cabinet opposite, her mind in turmoil. What they were proposing was insanity. She wasn't sure if she could do as Kingsley asked, to travel back to a time of which very few records, both magical and muggle had been kept, to get what they needed. There were so many things that could potentially go wrong. Thinking about these was making her feel queasy. What if she died while in the past? How would that work with time?

"It's too risky," she defended herself hotly. "We don't even know when the school was built or anything. This plan is worse than lunacy and you know it, Kingsley." She turned to appeal to him, in the hope that he would see sense.

Kingsley turned to look at her. "We know exactly into which year we'd be sending you. I've had a team of unspeakables working on it this last two months. Hermione please! We can't close Hogwarts; it embodies so much wizarding history, as well as being the only place we can educate magical youth safely and without prejudice to blood."

She felt her eyes fill with tears and turned away. What they were asking was cruel but at the same time, not doing it would mean the kind of devastation wizarding Britain just couldn't afford politically, financially or socially. Muggleborn children, those like her, would probably never know magic as there would be few places for them to learn – that thought made her cringe. Could she condemn them to that? As soon as the question entered her mind, she knew she couldn't, however mad she thought the plan.

"Will I be safe going back?" She asked in a small voice, her stomach leaden.

"Oh, yes, Hermione, You'll be looked after like a queen, I promise you that," Kingsley stated so emphatically that she wheeled round to stare at him.

"How do you know?"

His look was considering. "We have records Hermione, now will you do it?"

"What records? Do they say I went back? Do I come back safely? Was it successful?"

"The founders' personal records. You're named as the one who went back, and you do everything with wich you're tasked. You do return; more than that I'm not saying. It doesn't do to know too much about what shall happen."

"And I won't age as I return?"

"No, the Egyptians have been very thorough in their design of the vacuum capsule. I've spoken to the person who went back to the time of the Pharaohs, and he's no older than when he left them to return to our time."

She had run out of arguments, and other than her personal fear, couldn't think of any more reasons for stalling. The sag of her shoulders told everyone what they wanted to know. Kingsley gave a whoop of joy and next moment, he'd scooped her up into a rib crushing hug that knocked the breath from her.

"That's wonderful. Thank you, Hermione, you don't realise how important this is, not only to those of us who have fond memories of Hogwarts, but for future generations..."

Behind him, she could see Professor McGonagall trying but failing to stem her own tears of joy. Molly and Arthur Weasley wore pensive looks; she knew they at least were worried for her safety as much as for the state of the school.

Professor McGonagall wiped her eyes smiling broadly. "Kingsley, we need to plan!"


	2. Chapter One Introductions

A/N: the disclaimer can be found in the prologue. Thanks to my beta, Demoness Mark, for sorting my grammar, and making sure the story makes sense. I've not stuck strictly to Saxon traditions though have tried to incorporate them where I could. Also, some of the subject names mentioned in this chapter are borrowed from Sarhea's Vivat Regina an are not my own invention, the rest of it is all mine though. Enjoy!

 **Chapter One Introductions**

"Hermione, please," Ron pleaded as the heavy ermine trimmed cloak was draped round Hermione's shoulders by a stoic Mrs Weasley and fastened with a silver clasp in the shape of the Kirwood coat of arms. "Please, think about it. It's such a risk, anything could happen."

They were standing in the dank kitchen of Grimmauld place, the fire not quite dispelling the chill in the frigid January air. Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall were fussing round Hermione anxiously, checking her travelling outfit once again for irregularities, even though there were none.

She looked up into Ron's blue eyes and mustered the most convincing smile she could manage. "Five minutes, Ron, and I'll be back. The Time Turner's all set. I need to do this, please don't make it harder!"

"Then we'll be here waiting," he turned to Ginny and Harry who both nodded emphatically.

"Thank you! You don't know how much that means." She was glad that her friends had been let in on her secret mission; it would have been doubly hard if they hadn't known.

"You look lovely, Hermione," Ginny told her smiling tremulously, "so elegant and stately. I want some of those outfits when you get back, ok?"

Hermione returned her smile. "You can have the lot. By that time, I'll be sick of carrying around a ton of fabric everywhere I go."

"They are lovely though, Madam Leonard did a good job with them," Professor McGonagall approved as again she adjusted the girdle around Hermione's waist before smoothing the cloak over it. "There now, you look like a high-born noble woman."

Mrs Weasley adjusted the hood of her cloak as the door opened and Kingsley bustled in. "Everything ready?" He was holding a wooden box which he put on the kitchen table. Not waiting for a response, he opened the lid, lifting out a Time Turner. This was nothing like the device Hermione had used during her third year at Hogwarts. It was much larger and solid, with a series of clips holding the dial in place. The attached chain was as thick as a rope and looked very strong. She saw the device had already been set to Tuesday 13 September 1003, 14:00, and her stomach gave a lurch of fear. She could still back out if she wanted. The thought flashed across her mind, but even as it did, she knew she wouldn't. There was too much at stake.

The last two months had been spent in preparations for her trip. In her pocket she carried a shrunk down trunk of clothes and accessories befitting a noble woman of the late Anglo-Saxon times. Her trusty beaded bag was tied to her shift, containing everything she may need for the coming trip including potions, equipment, a cauldron, writing materials, camping supplies, non-perishable food stuffs, a Pensieve with a few vials of memories, books, and many other things which the department of Mysteries considered important. They had left no stone unturned in their planning.

She knew more about the time of the founders now than she had ever come across while at school, including the subjects that had been taught, the types of students who had attended the school and other minor details which she knew would be important. She had also been schooled in the mannerisms, attitudes and the role of eleventh century witches, many of which she found uncomfortable, if not alarming.

Weeks had been spent going over her identity, supposed magical background, plus training her in occlumency and ward casting. She thought ruefully of how useful all she had learned would have been when she, Harry, and Ron had been searching for the horcruxes the year before.

"Do you have the letter?" Kingsley asked. She patted the pocket of her cloak. "Remember, you'll need to show it to whichever of the founders you come across first. It's from your father, residing in France who has requested you be educated at the school. They'll be satisfied by the credentials. Kirwood was a respectable pureblood name. It won't raise any suspicions the Kirwoods of the day lived mostly on the continent so your late arrival won't draw undue attention."

She nodded numbly, glad they'd let her keep her first name. She could exchange Granger for Kirwood for the duration of her visit to the past.

"Also, there's an envelope with further instructions for you as well. Look at it when you've been there a few days as by then, the initial shock will have worn off. Remember, you're there for a purpose. Keep your head down and your nose clean. Everything else will take care of itself." He instructed. "If you're in doubt at any time, the Time Turner will bring you back here. We've already set it to return to this date and location, so you don't need to worry on that score. It'll change date the moment it reaches 13 September 1003. Just remove the clips when you're ready and you'll be away."

Many times in the past months, he had said that things would take care of themselves. She had an inkling that he knew a lot more than he was letting on to her about what was going to happen, a thought which was comforting rather than frightening.

Taking the chain of the Time Turner, he looped it round her neck, then stepped back. "One more thing," he said seriously, holding her eyes, "things will happen while you're away that you won't expect. Don't fight, Hermione. The founders will have your protection at heart at all times. You must do what they ask, even if it does seem a bit extreme to you."

"What do you mean?" Ginny yelped in alarm. "Will Hermione be in danger? That's not fair, Kingsley! You said everything would be ok!"

Kingsley spared her a glance, before turning back to Hermione who was frowning. "As I said, things will happen you won't expect, but you mustn't fight them. You've been provided with everything you'll need to get through this. Hermione, you can't change the fabric of time – these things I speak of have already happened – remember that."

"What things?" She asked, feeling her nerves tighten some more.

"Nothing to worry about, now are you ready?" Professor McGonagall asked, her brisk tone belying her tense expression.

"But I ought to at least know-"

"All will be revealed in time. You'll be quite safe which is what's important," Kingsley reassured.

His stoic expression told her there was no point arguing, so she looked round at her friends once more. Harry, Ron and Ginny stood silently watching her, eyes wide with fear and trepidation. Mrs Weasley was smiling encouragingly though her lip quivered suspiciously. Professor McGonagall looked on the edge of tears, and Hermione smiled despite her own fear. They'd already said their goodbyes for which she was profoundly thankful – she didn't think her resolve could take any more emotions right now and time was ticking. She needed to go before she was due to come back, to avoid overlap.

"Good Luck, my dear," Kingsley said, she was touched to hear the slight catch in his voice. "Trust your instincts, listen to those around you and all will be well."

"I'll do my best, I promise!" She told him, meaning it.

"See you in five minutes, Hermione," Harry called, waving.

Put like that, it seemed so simple. She wanted to laugh hysterically, wondering how old she would be when she came back.

"Good Luck!" Ginny chimed in nervously.

Hermione returned their waves with a shaking hand. Knowing she couldn't put the inevitable off any longer, she sent a last prayer to anyone who may be listening, took a deep breath and nodded at Kingsley. He too took a deep breath then flicked his wand twice.

XoXoXoXo

There was a series of metallic clicks as the clips holding the dial of the Time Turner were released. The capsule protecting her was activated, causing Hermione's arms to fall to her sides and her skirts to rap protectively round her. She felt a lassitude come over her; the calming charm was taking effect, dulling her senses and putting her into a relaxed state as she began to hurtle backwards.

The capsule protected her from the vortex of wind and sound surrounding her. She didn't notice the flashing of shapes and the din of sounds as the years passed. She just hoped that things would go well. Around her, there was an explosion of colours as the Time Turner took her inexorably backwards, yanking her at lightning speed through the last millennium with purposeful determination.

She wasn't sure how long she travelled; it felt like a long time. Her mind had shut down so she wouldn't be traumatised by what was happening. She became conscious she was slowing down and opened her eyes. As she did so, she felt her feet hit solid ground with a thump. At the same moment, her senses cleared and the calming charm and vacuum capsule lifted, leaving her clear headed and alert.

There was a click as the dial on the Time Turner relocked itself. Glancing down at it, she saw it had set itself to Saturday 16 January 1999, 14:20. That at least seemed to have worked.

Flexing her stiff arms, she undid the clasp on her cloak, pushed the Time Turner beneath her gown with difficulty, hoping the invisibility charm on it had activated, then pulled her cloak tight about her once more, redoing the silver clasp. Performing a quick date and time charm, she saw she had indeed been deposited in the right time – she was in the eleventh century. She also pressed the slight bump in the crook of her elbow where the tiny chip encapsulating the translation charm had been embedded; her Latin wasn't great, and her old English and French non-existent. She just hoped the chip would work.

Grappling with the enormity of the task before her, she took a slow look round her, eyes adjusting to the brightness of the day. As the unspeakables had predicted, she was feeling fine, a little disoriented, but otherwise ok. It was quiet; the only sounds reaching her were those of birds twittering, and the wind sighing in the trees. The day was cool and breezy, with fluffy clouds scudding across the sky. Thankfully, it was also dry.

In front of her stood the gates to Hogwarts, They were much more simplistic in style, though the winged boars sat leering down at her from either gate post. The path behind her was deserted. She could see what looked like a rough muddy track winding away down the hill. When it rained she could imagine it would become no more than a slushy quagmire.

A few stunted trees were dotted about the hillside, with the forbidden forest a hundred yards or so away, edging the boundary to the grounds on every side. Clearly, the land here had not yet been cultivated.

Knowing what she had to do, Hermione pulled her trunk from an inner pocket of her cloak, and with a flick of her wand, it was full size again. Then levitating it before her, she pushed open one of the creaking gates and stepped through. Immediately, she felt the sting of powerful wards which skimmed her form with ruthless precision, causing her skin to prickle uncomfortably and her throat to close as they travelled from her hair to her toes and back again. The sensation was over as quickly as it had begun, leaving her shaking in its wake.

She took a few deep breaths to bring her trembling under control. She had never encountered such ruthless and powerful wards before. Whoever had designed them meant business when it came to the school's protection. Feeling sick with nerves, she composed herself, then began the long trek up to the school. The grounds were quiet with no one in sight.

Her arrival had been timed to cause least impact. Hopefully, afternoon classes had commenced and she would be able to get into the castle without difficulty. What she would do then, remained to be decided.

She walked slowly, weighed down by her cumbersome wide skirts. She smiled to herself, remembering the hours she'd had to spend with Madam Hawkins her etiquette teacher, practising walking in this style of outfit to ensure she didn't trip over. It consisted of her heavy cloak beneath which was a shorter outer gown that came to just above her ankles with a longer under gown which hid her shoes from view. Under this was a lace trimmed ankle length chemise and short linen shift which covered her primitive underwear. The muted grey colour of the outfit was accented with wide bands of silver embroidery at the hem and tight full length pleated sleeves. This outfit felt at least three times heavier than her usual robes, however it did have one good thing about it which was the ability to conceal things; her beaded bag which was tied to her shift, wasn't noticeable beneath the layers of heavy fabric that swirled round her woollen clad legs as she walked.

Ahead of her was the castle, she was relieved to see it looked whole, almost exactly as it did when she had first attended Hogwarts, complete with towers and turrets – it was a magnificent sight to behold. She paused for a moment, just drinking it in before moving on.

A slight sound to her right made her turn her head and pause. A man had appeared from the shadows, watching her with an unreadable expression. Unusually tall for a man of the eleventh century, he was around six foot and imposing, with wavy shoulder length jet black hair which glinted with midnight blue highlights. He had a strong face, a sensuous mouth, an aquiline nose and high cheekbones. He exuded an aura of latent strength and good health. She judged him to be in his early thirties at the most. His eyes were a deep blue, sweeping over her with the efficiency of a goblin. Just in time, she remembered to lower her occlumency shields, focusing on the thought of her so called father, giving her last minute instructions about Hogwarts.

She wondered who the man was, surely not one of the founders? While he seemed too young, he was richly dressed in a black cloak which was open, showing a long tunic of linen with trousers of a heavier material beneath. He was probably an assistant or apprentice of some sort. Hiding her surprise at seeing him, she bowed her head while lowering her trunk to the ground. It was time to put Kingsley's carefully concocted story to the test.

"Good afternoon. May I help you?" He asked courteously, though he moved to block her path in a manner she could only describe as threatening.

She was relieved to note the translation chip definitely worked, as his Latin was easy to understand. His voice was low and cultured, with undertones of haughtiness and assurance.

"Greetings sir," she began deferentially, hoping her voice wasn't as shaky as she felt. She was most likely being too polite, as the man was probably of a lower class than she was supposed to be, however she didn't dare take risks. "I am looking for one of the Mages of Hogwarts castle. May I request your assistance in this matter?"

"Why do you wish to speak to one of the mages?" His question was again polite, though she detected an undercurrent of suspicion in the cool eyes looking into her own.

"I wish to enrol as a student sir." She nodded towards her trunk. "My farther resides in France and wishes me to finish my education at Hogwarts. Due to a slight skirmish of French dignitaries, I was prevented in setting out as early as planned for the start of the school year, hence my lateness." She hoped her nerves weren't evident. Please, let him not make difficulties about not having received an application to study as was usual custom. Kingsley had assured her this wouldn't be a problem, but standing here trying not to shake while facing this man, she doubted it.

"You're a Norman?" Again the question was polite, but she could sense the hostility beneath the question.

She knew the dislike between the Saxons and Normans wasn't much of an issue among magical families, so why he had to bring it up now, she couldn't guess. "Only partially sir, my Mother is of Saxon origin."

"Your name, young lady?" The man asked, seemingly content with his perusal of her. He turned and picked up her trunk as though it weighed nothing, then led the path up towards the school. Hermione supposed he would continue the interrogation once they were indoors.

"Miss Hermione Kirwood, Sir," she replied as she hurried to keep up with his lengthy stride. She followed him nervously up the steps into the entrance hall. There he regarded her again, before dropping a metaphorical bombshell.

"We have been expecting you these past hours, Miss Kirwood, hence my being there to meet you. If you'll come this way, I'll show you to your quarters. We hope they'll be satisfactory."

Expecting her? She would have gaped had she not been so surprised. They couldn't have been. He probably had the wrong person. However, he was going up the marble staircase with her luggage, again, she hurried after him trying not to stumble on the hem of her cloak. She decided against asking his name; such things were very dependent on social standing, this man could be anyone. She looked around her, noticing the hunting scenes and a few tapestries on the walls. The castle was immaculately clean, with no rushes or straw on the floor. Their footsteps were loud on the flagstones, making her even more conscious of the quiet surrounding them as they climbed to the next floor.

The man was leading her down towards the east wing, which in her time housed the Defence against the Dark Arts classrooms. He eventually came to a stop by a large oak door and turned to her. "These are your chambers. You can set the password once I depart." He swept in, putting her trunk down by the door. She followed looking around.

The main room was large with high windows looking out onto the lake. There was an uncomfortable looking wooden settle to one side of the room with a low table in front of it. A fire had been laid in a recessed nook, and the room looked inviting if a little bare.

He indicated a door at one side of the large room. "The sleeping chamber is through there, and a private wash room leads off it. A house-elf has been instructed to look after you; she'll unpack and see to all your needs."

With fumbling fingers, Hermione removed the role of vellum and leather bag of silver Kingsley had given her, from a pocket, holding them out to him. Hopefully he would give them to one of the founders, as it didn't look as though he would take her to meet any of them yet.

"From my farther," she explained. "He apologises for not accompanying me, but my portkey could only accommodate one."

Taking both, he unrolled the velum, scanning the contents quickly, before stowing the money in a pocket. Then he turned back to her, expression curious. "I see. Tell me Miss Kirwood, are you literate?"

She was almost sure this man was a teacher. "Yes, I was taught to read and write Latin and French by one of my father's relatives as a young child." The translation chip would ensure she could read and write both languages fluently.

"How about your magical education?"

She resisted the urge to role her eyes. The letter covered that. "My father and my uncle taught me all they knew. I hope I reach the standards required of graduating students."

"Not your mother?" He asked brusquely. He certainly didn't mince his words.

"She died when I was born," she lied smoothly. "My step mother has little time for such things so my father thought this would be the best place to finish my education." His gaze was penetrating and she returned it, occlumency shields firmly in place. She felt the nudge of legilimency against her mind, but it was brief and he looked away before she could react.

"I see. Well, Miss Kirwood, you are welcome at Hogwarts. We'll devise a suitable schedule for you, which will be given to you in the morning." His voice was chilly belying these words. His eyes flicked to the vellum in his hand. "Hattie?"

With a crack, a house-elf appeared by his side. It was very small and wore a length of muslin cloth with the Hogwarts coat of arms embossed in a corner, round its body. "Unpack for Miss Kirwood and see that she has anything she needs."

"Yes, sir," the elf beamed.

He moved towards the door. "Now, Miss, I'll let you rest. Supper is in the great hall just after sunset. Someone shall escort you down. Is there anything else I can do before I leave? We would like your stay with us to be as comfortable as possible."

Hermione shook her head, again detecting the coolness in his voice. This man didn't trust her at all whatever he said.

"In that case, I shall bid you a restful afternoon. Until this evening." He swept from the room, closing the door softly behind him.

"Hattie will help Miss out of her cloak," the elf squeaked by her elbow.

Hermione turned to the diminutive creature feeling weary. Madam Hawkins had warned her that due to her supposed status, she may be waited on by a house-elf but hadn't been sure. She knew it would look very odd for her to refuse the elf's help, so didn't protest as the elf made short work of her cloak, stripping it from her shoulders and folding it before bustling into the next room. No doubt the elf would be asked about her wardrobe. Again she silently thanked Kingsley and the Ministry for ensuring she had an adequate wardrobe of clothes. They had all been tailored to fit her, at least three sets of the Hogwarts uniform, an array of day and evening gowns, and a few cloaks, plus underclothes, accessories and nightwear. Very little magic had been used to make them, as Kingsley had pointed out, such spells could easily be undone.

"Miss should lie down," the elf instructed her. Before she could protest, she had been levitated from the main room into the bed chamber.

A curtained plank bed sat in the middle of the room which she knew was the height of luxury in this era. A stuffed mattress sat on the boards of the bed, covered by thick woollen blankets. All were immaculately clean. The elf guided her over to the bed, deftly removing her shoes and mantel with a flick of her long fingers.

"Thank you," Hermione said watching as the elf began unpacking her clothes, and hanging them on pegs in a tall wardrobe – another luxury as thankfully, it wasn't located in the privy next door as was the custom. "Hattie, who was that man who escorted me upstairs, one of the teachers?"

The elf didn't stop what she was doing. "That is being Baron Slytherin, Miss. He has been watching for you these past few hours. Lady Hufflepuff, Lady Ravenclaw and Baron Gryffindor is wanting to greet you as well, but they is teaching, so Baron Slytherin is doing it."

Hermione closed her eyes, letting the shock sink in. She was very glad that she hadn't asked who the man was. An odd feeling went through her at the thought that she had met the person who had started all the prejudice against muggleborns. She thought of his portrait and grimaced; this man was totally different than the one depicted in his portrait in her time – much younger for a start.

"How did they know I was arriving?" She asked.

The elf glanced over her shoulder as she continued putting Hermione's clothes away. "I isn't knowing, Miss. Lady Hufflepuff is telling me this morning that you is coming and I is to look after you. "She smiled, clearly pleased by the responsibility. "My mother is being Lady Abigail's maid, and is telling me about it, I knows what to do. I will wake miss when it is time to dress for supper."

Hermione smiled to herself. Turning over, she watched the elf disapparate, then scrambling up, quickly performed a vacuum charm near the ceiling. Stowing the Time turner in its wooden box, she put it into the vacuum, before laying down again, knowing the magical device was safe from detection.

XoXoXoXo

"So what's she like?" Godric Gryffindor asked, throwing himself down into a seat in Salazar's private study with a groan. "Pour me some mead will you? The little buggers this afternoon did my head in."

Salazar, well used to his demands, pushed a ready-prepared tankard towards him. "She seems perfectly ordinary. Noble birth, her clothes and walk gave that away."

"But any odd mannerisms? You know clues or so on as to who she is?" Godric asked before taking a long draft from the tankard.

"Not really. Just this thing from her so called father." Salazar pushed the scroll of vellum Hermione had given him towards Godric, who picked it up. "It's very detailed, quite believable, in fact. Oh, she's literate, I asked her, and she's a strong occlumense."

"You didn't, poor girl." Godric laughed.

"I tried, but she seemed to be expecting it, slammed the shields down before you could lift a finger. Of course, I'll be able to get through if I have to but..." He trailed off. Even he wouldn't do that unless it was really necessary. He continued, "No, this little lady has been well prepared, so we'll just have to sit tight and wait. All I could gage were her emotions, nervousness and determination. Nothing unusual."

"Hmm, I'm not sure what I was expecting, but not someone who is so well adjusted. Did she recognise you?"

Salazar frowned. "No. I must admit that did surprise me a bit. She was dying to ask me who I was but held her tongue."

"And her clothes and appearance?"

"Her cloak was fur trimmed, very tasteful. I couldn't see the gown beneath but suspect it was velvet. As for looks, she's seriously easy on the eyes. Tall and slender with clear skin and eyes, very nice teeth, and not an ounce of paint on her. Hair was chestnut - I saw an escaped strand."

"Good nutrition then," Godric gave a wistful sigh. "I wish some of the others here were so fortunate."

"I'd say so. Though why they would send a witch I can't understand, especially one who looks like that." This thought had been nagging at Salazar all afternoon; he still couldn't see the logic behind it, though his cynical radar had suggested a less than palatable reason.

"Maybe she's more intelligent than the available wizards," Godric suggested.

"Hmm, maybe." A knock made both men turn.

"Enter!" Salazar called, and the door was pushed open to reveal a tall woman wearing a frown. Immediately both men leapt to their feet.

"Well?" She asked without preamble, coming in and shutting the door with a decisive snap behind her as she waved them to their seats as she sat down. "I questioned Hattie just now, but she wasn't able to tell me much other than the contents of the girl's wardrobe which is extensive. She's definitely high born."

"And hello to you too, Rowena dear!" Godric lifted his tankard in a toast. She ignored him, her gaze trained on Salazar.

"Like you, I came across nothing unusual. She seems to be a perfectly respectable noble woman, good manners, nice clothes, all very proper. No doubt Hattie will be able to tell us more as the days progress," Salazar agreed blandly. He'd question the elf himself to learn about Miss Kirwood's motivations before the week was out.

"I didn't think she'd show her hand straight away," Rowena sighed, "still, I'm so curious! If Helga's vision is true..."

"It's true alright," Salazar replied briskly, "I was just about to return to the castle, when she appeared by the gates, literally out of thin air, well within the apparition boundary."

"A portkey?" Godric queried.

"Definitely not. Portkeys can be seen long before they reach you, and have a tendency to explode. It was some cylindrical metal object round her neck. She appeared and the first thing she did, was tuck it into her clothes. Then she looked round her, pulled something from her pocket enlarging it into a trunk. Not even a flash as she cast."

"Merlin's beard," Rowena breathed almost reverently. "I bet that wasn't the expansion charm we use; do you think she'd teach it to us?"

"Hold your horses," Godric frowned. "First things first, we need to know why she's come, and from when."

"I'm aware of that thanks," she scowled at him, before turning back to Salazar. "How about her accent, that kind of thing?"

"As English and aristocratic as you please, though she claims to be part Norman. The name is odd. Hermione, have you heard of it?"

Rowena nodded. "It's Greek, meaning earthly. She's a Kirwood though, they're a secretive lot, and the current bunch resides in France and have quite a lot of Norman blood running through them – very convenient." She spotted the role of vellum that Godric had put on the table beside him and he pushed it towards her. "Hmm, it is very credible," she murmured as she read it, "still, she must be carrying some sort of concealment spell or some such. She fits in too well if you know what I mean."

"There's nothing dark about her," Salazar interjected, surprising himself by his vehemence. "The darkness detection ward I put on the gates before she arrived, didn't activate. It searched her and all her belongings as she stepped through. She seemed more nervous than anything else. Still though, the so called father has requested she take subjects we each teach, so we'll soon get her measure." He was determined on that point, though not for the reasons he professed to the others.

"Indeed," Rowena agreed. "The point is that we can't draw undue attention to her. No one else must know that she's anything but a student."

"Should we confront her?" Godric asked tentatively. "We should know why she's here; we've a right after all, considering she's residing under our roof. I mean what if it's for something bad? We've vulnerable children here; she may be a danger to them..."

"I don't think so," Salazar dismissed. They had been discussing the reasons behind the witches visit for a few days now; he didn't want to go through it all again. "Helga's vision said she was here to ask for our help with a Hogwarts related matter and is no threat. Besides, she's more than paid for her keep," he nodded at the bag of coins on the chest under the window. "Let her make the first move, it's better that way. If she hasn't said anything after a week, we'll tackle her. We'll watch her of course, and can observe any oddities; they'll say a lot more about her than mere words." The others nodded in agreement though Godric grimaced. He wasn't the most patient of souls and Salazar knew it would be torture for him to have to wait.

Before he'd met the girl, Salazar too had been deeply uneasy about her arrival and her motives for coming to the school. After all, why would some unknown witch seek them out? He didn't trust people easily and certainly not someone whose background he didn't know, she could be anyone! He had made sure to be the one to meet her as the others would be more likely to be taken in by a hard luck story. If she thought she could infiltrate Hogwarts, she had another think coming; unbeknownst to the others, the wards he had put on the gates, would have paralysed her instantly if this had been the case. When she'd turned up, nervousness had oozed from her, and his strategically placed wards had shown her to harbour no evil intent. Now all he felt was curiosity, plus his intense personal reaction to her which he wasn't ready to put a name to quite yet.

"Do you think we ought to sort her?" Godric continued. "It's what we'd do with any other student. We can try the hat on her."

Rowena frowned in thought. "I was wondering about that, from the looks of this," she nodded to the letter, "she's very bright so it stands to reason she's in my house. "

"Ah, but we don't know that," Godric interjected with a scowl. "I'd say what she's doing is pretty brave, most wouldn't have that kind of gumption."

"Oh I don't know, I'd say she was pretty resourceful and determined," Salazar retorted with narrowed eyes. "She's a first class occlumense and has ingenuity- definitely one of mine." If Godric or Rowena thought they'd get her, they had another thought coming. Quite why he was so determined to have her in his house, he didn't know.

"Earthly suggests one of Helga's," Rowena put in fairly.

"Yes, but-"

"Let's leave her where she is for the time being, the guest rooms are better placed than a dormitory for her purposes and we each have access, which I suspect will be very important in the upcoming months," Rowena reasoned. "Also it gives her privacy to do whatever she needs to, and I don't want any students knowing about this!"

"Yes, that's probably most sensible though I do wonder-"

"Enough," Salazar interrupted Godric briskly. "We need to get to supper or Helga will have our heads, she's been helping prepare the meal, even though she's been uneasy about the girl's arrival. Miss Kirwood had better be grateful! Come on!" He ushered them from his study and they went to the great hall.

XoXoXoXo

Hermione felt bemused as she looked around her. A few of the students were eyeing her with curiosity mixed with suspicion, though many had worn calculating gleams on first seeing her. She looked down at her wide skirted and layered bronze satin gown with gold embroidery, set off by a girdle woven from gold thread, with a matching headdress, mantel and shoes, very conscious of the fact that she was better dressed than all of the students here in their black uniforms. Tomorrow she would don the Hogwarts uniform but for this evening at least, she had been instructed by Kingsley to _dress up_ as it would show her status which was very important in cementing her identity.

The great hall was as she remenbered it before the war, the enchanted ceiling showing a murky sky with rain clouds gathering in the distance. There were fewer students, around 400 in all. The house tables were smaller, and she sat halfway down the Ravenclaw table. She quickly obverted her gaze from the top table which seated the staff.

"You should eat more," Elisabeth Flanders, the student who had picked her up for supper, pushed a dish of stew towards Hermione and nodded at her empty bowl. "Lady Hufflepuff helped with supper tonight, her recipes are legendary."

"Thank you," Hermione accepted automatically. "I'm probably still tired from the journey, hence my lack of appetite." She had only taken a small portion of stew, and felt queasy at the food facing her. It was far richer than anything she was used to.

"France, the land of the barbarian," A slight, pale faced blonde girl Hermione didn't know commented idly opposite them, helping herself to another portion of stew. "How you stood it there is beyond me."

"Now don't be rude, Jane," the dark eyed and dark haired Elisabeth admonished, before turning back to Hermione. "So how about you Hermione? A bow in your life? You must be betrothed at the very least."

"Um, no," Hermione muttered, inwardly marvelling. It seemed that women didn't change even in a thousand years. She could just imagine Lavender and Parvati sitting opposite her having this very discussion.

"Give her time El, with those looks she won't have any problems! She'll be snapped up before you can blink," Jane said, a note of wistfulness in her voice.

In an attempt to change the subject, Hermione asked, "so what subjects do you both take?"

"I'm studying Enchantments, Arithmancy, Crafting, Discipline, Potions and Wandless Magic," Elisabeth told her with pride.

"And you, Jane?" Hermione enquired of the blonde.

"Herbology, Potions, Enchantments, Crafting, Runes, and Discipline."

Hermione had so far tried not to look at the top table more than she could help for fear of drawing attention to herself, but now looked curiously at the people sitting there. There were around ten people, four of whom she supposed were the founders. One of the women, an austere looking witch in her forties, who Hermione guessed to be Rowena Ravenclaw, caught her eye and smiled at her. Beside her sat the very alive Helena Ravenclaw, who was looking bored as she played with her food. Hermione could see Salazar Slytherin sitting beside an auburn haired man of a similar age. They were conversing in low mutters, she supposed the auburn haired man was Godric Gryffindor, his beard was much shorter than in his portrait, and he had twinkling green eyes. He looked to be a similar height to Slytherin, who looked as before, remote and cool. "What do they all teach?"

"Well, they used to teach their own houses every subject, butt two years ago began teaching specific subjects to the older students, though they still teach the younger students for other things with their apprentices' help. Lady Ravenclaw says that's much easier," Elisabeth explained.

"Now, Baron Slytherin teaches discipline, Wandless magic, Dark Arts, some Defence and next term, critical thinking. Baron Gryffindor teaches some Defence, Crafting, and flying to the younger students. Lady Ravenclaw teaches Runes, Potions and Enchantments. Lady Hufflepuff teaches literacy to the younger students who don't know how, Household management to the girls and Arithmancy," Jane told her.

"Who are the others?" Hermione nodded towards the top table.

Elisabeth nodded to a pimply youth. "Oh, that's Lattice – he teaches Charms to the little ones when the mages don't have time. From sixth year it becomes Enchantments and the mages take over." She indicated a sallow-faced woman. "That's Miss Engle, one of the literacy teachers, and the others are apprentices – they fill in as needed, usually taking the younger students for Crafting, runes and things. Only the Mages teach the advanced subjects."

Before them the plates emptied of food and a murmur went round the hall. "Oh good, storytelling time," Jane said. "Baron Gryffindor's turn tonight, isn't it?"

Her question was answered as Gryffindor stood and silence fell. "OK everyone, settle down," he called and the hall quietened immediately. "Before I begin though, I'd like to welcome a new student to our school, Miss Kirwood, who's come here all the way from France! Miss Kirwood's mother is English and her Father is French. She's been home schooled but her father having heard of Hogwarts, wanted her to finish her education here. This is an honour for us! I'd like you all to extend every courtesy to her and make her welcome. Now, we'll carry on with the tale of Merlin."

Around Hermione the students settled back, as he opened a large volume and began reading. He had a rich mellow voice which flowed round the hall like smooth honey. She had read of this tradition in Hogwarts A History, but it was nice seeing it in action. After a few minutes, she noticed that many of the younger students looked as though they were dozing off; even the older ones seemed more relaxed as they listened. Hermione felt her own barriers start to drop and quickly sat up straight to stay alert. There was something odd about this scene, then it hit her. While reading, he was slowly putting a calming enchantment on the students, but how? No doubt this would stop most night time wanderings, but she wasn't sure about the ethics of such a move. She glanced at the top table to see that only one apprentice remained, everyone else had disappeared. The apprentice, a dark haired youth, was riffling through another volume, not paying any attention to the goings on around him. This ruled him out as the caster of the enchantment, the onset of which seemed to be gradual.

Deliberately, she looked away from Godric Gryffindor and began to count the notches in the wood of the table in front of her, anything to keep her mind busy. In future, she would bring something to do to keep her occupied.

"Now, time for bed!" His voice pulled her from her thoughts, she looked up in time to see him closing the volume he was holding. "Sleep well; I'll see you in the morning!" The students all rose as one, moving sedately to the doors. Many walked mechanically; Hermione suspected they were only half awake.

"Come, I'll take you back." Elisabeth stood up stifling a yawn.

"May I accompany you?" Jane asked, rubbing her eyes.

"Of course, if you'd like." Hermione moved into the throng of students. With years of practice, she manoeuvred herself and her companions into the crowd heading out of the great hall with ease, and up the marble staircase. The students around her walked without protest or noise, watching them made her feel odd. They looked like automatons.

They had reached the first floor corridor when a voice made them look round. "Miss Flanders, I'll take Miss Kirwood from here."

The three girls spun round to see Rowena Ravenclaw watching them while leaning against the top of the staircase banister. Hermione recognised her as the witch who had caught her eye earlier. She was a stately looking witch with her house insignia embroidered on her gown. Her eyes were light brown with golden flecks, she reminded Hermione strongly of Minerva McGonagall. This was a woman not to be trifled with, she could see that.

Elisabeth blinked. "I don't mind, Madam, I..."

"I wish to speak to Miss Kirwood, as I couldn't greet her upon her arrival, I shall take this opportunity to do so," Lady Ravenclaw told her curtly.

"Shall I pick you up for breakfast Hermione?" Elisabeth asked, glancing at Rowena Ravenclaw who nodded.

The girls turned and left, leaving her alone with the austere witch. In silence, they proceeded to Hermione's suite. She muttered the password 'Unicorn' and entered, Rowena right behind her.

"Now," the older witch waved her wand at the tallow candles in the room. "I wanted to make your acquaintance and check that you had all you needed."

"Thank you, you're very kind." Hermione moved across to the fire, holding her hands out to its welcome heat.

"Was the food to your liking? I noticed you didn't eat much," Rowena quizzed, leaning against one of the dark windows, studying her thoughtfully.

Hermione's heart sank. So they had been watching, even though she had sat as far as she dared from the top table. "Oh, it was lovely, thank you. I'm a little tired from my journey, hence my lack of appetite. " Even to herself she sounded wooden.

"Indeed." The older witch suddenly smiled, her face softening, her eyes warming as she moved to stand beside Hermione. "Godric meant what he said earlier - we are truly honoured to have you here, my dear," she laid a hand on Hermione's shoulder. "Please, if there's anything we can do, you will say. You seem so quiet and withdrawn, we're all worried."

"Oh no, everything's fine, honestly. It's just been a long day," Hermione replied hurriedly.

"Well, I'm glad you've made friends with Elisabeth Flanders and Jane Lint, they are two of my nicest students, and you'll do well together. Now, I have your schedule here," she pulled a scroll of parchment from a pocket. "We've managed to accommodate your father's wishes; all your subjects are on here. Jane and El will be able to take you to where you need to be though as neither is in your Defence and Dark Arts classes, I'll arrange for one of Baron Slytherin's students to escort you to those."

"Thank you," Hermione smiled wearily, wishing she could think of something less mundane to say. "I'm sure I'll learn my way round soon enough."

"Then I'll bid you goodnight." Rowena left.

Hermione sat down heavily. The day had been exhausting and she was shattered. The constant pretence was starting to exhaust her; she wasn't sure how she was supposed to get through the rest of the year like this.

"Hattie will undress Miss," the elf's voice made her start. Hattie pulled her to her feet, guiding her into the bedroom. With a click of the elf's fingers, the laces on Hermione's outer gown had been undone and her girdle loosened. Hattie pulled them off, then the under gown, and chemise beneath. She was embarrassed as the elf pulled off her breast cloth exposing her upper half to the chill of the room before yanking her linen shift up to cover her. Next came Hermione's shoes and tights and she shivered, glad that she'd put an invisibility spell on her beaded bag currently resting inside her shift.

Hattie eyed the crudely made tights with interest but said nothing. She stood back as a night dress floated from the wardrobe and over Hermione's head. "I has heated water for Miss to wash and then Miss can sleep. Things will be easier for Miss tomorrow."

Hermione simply nodded, soon tucked into the bed which was warm to her surprise, and was more comfortable than she had thought. She turned over, her mind whirling. There was something very odd going on but she could not fathom it. The founders had accepted her arrival, even anticipated it, but why? They seemed very anxious to ensure she had the best of everything – did they know she wasn't from this time? Deciding she would go mad if she kept questioning herself, she turned over and deliberately let her mind go blank. Soon sleep overtook her and her first day in the Founder's time was finally over.


End file.
